Monday, May 27, 2013

The minute hand tick-tocked at a snail’s pace. She was early. And nervous.To
resist checking the car clock for the third time since 11:57am, she paced the
sidewalk, twirled her keys, practiced yoga breathing, and struck up a
conversation with a store proprietor then a stranger.

“How
long do I wait?” she thought. The slightest bit of panic creeping in as she
checked her lipstick in the side mirror. Again.

He
was hardly late, just five minutes, but minutes feel like hours when you’re
anticipating someone. And nervous.

When
he finally turned the corner and she recognized his smile, the air rushed completely out
of her lungs. An involuntary response. As each step brought him into sharper
focus, she realized she was holding her breath. And more nervous.

He
looked handsome though not exactly as her mind’s picture. And sweet. And
nervous too.

“Can
we hug?” she blurted out surprising even herself.

“Of
course,” he said, his deep voice registering with her ears for the first time.

She
draped her long arms loosely, at first, around his muscled shoulders. His
strong hands crisscrossed firmly around her waist. They remained motionless (on
the outside) for a very long time.

Collar
to hip bones. Body heat co-mingling through their clothes.

Chests
rising and falling in rhythm. Breathing in the essence of each other.

It
was the kind of hug that made her forget, for a split second, they were “just
friends” and in a public place and she needed to “appear” calm.

And
they stayed like that a little too long.

But there was no awkwardness.

And
the touching seemed natural.

She
felt his warm breath next to her ear whisper, “Let’s go do something fun.”

And
she thought to herself, “As if there is something more fun than this.”

*******************************

This week, Trifecta’s one-word prompt (third definition) is:

APPEAR

1a : to be or come in sight <the sun appears on the horizon>

b : to show up <appears promptly at eight each day>

2: to come formally before an authoritative body <must appear in court today>

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

I
look down at them. These shoes. The ones I’ve spent the last month and a half
breaking in for comfort. It’s been all fun and games so far. Some hiking, a lot of
walking, and some errands thrown in just because they’re feeling good.

I’ve
never spoken to them until today. It wasn’t until today that I became tentative.
It wasn’t until today I needed reassurance. Does it matter that I was talking to a pair of hiking shoes? Not really.

“Can
you support me on this journey?”

“We are helpful to anyone who wears us," in my mind, they say.

“Did
I tell you yet how long we’ll be together?”

“It doesn’t matter,” they answer.

“How
do you feel about the unknown, walking for 500 miles, being my closest friends?"

"We're here for as many days as you tie these laces. Take care of us and we will take care of you,” they reply quietly.

“Are
you as nervous as I am?”

“Not
at all. Stop worrying. This is what we're made for,” in a comforting tone, they said.

"But am I?"

"We're doing it together, remember?"

Doubting, I went to the forums and message boards, to people I didn’t know, people with experience, and every single one answered, “The Camino will provide.”

“That
advice is a little…ah, general! What do they know?”

“More
than you. Do you have a purpose? Do you know why you are doing this?” my hiking
shoes questioned.

“Yes.
I think so. I think I know.”

“You have 35 days to figure that out. Your purpose. It may
change; become clear. Don’t be hard on yourself," they replied.

“Pinky swear you’ll stick with me through all of
this, through all of the unknown, for 500 miles?”

“Yes. Put
one foot in front of the other each day. Look within yourself. Do your best. Remember your purpose. And we will finish this journey together,” they reassured.

“How
did a pair of shoes get so wise?”

“We
aren’t. It’s inside of you. It's where it's always been and where it will always be.”

“We”
leave in a week and a half to walk the 500 mile pilgrimage called El Camino de
Santiago de Compostela or The Walk of St. James. I’m nervous and excited and a
million other things. And I have a purpose. It may be loosely defined but that’s
okay for now. My hiking shoes told me I have a lot of time to figure it all
out.

*******************

Hooking up for the last time until August with one of my favorite places on the web...Yeah Write!!!

Sunday, May 19, 2013

I had no idea until five minutes ago that I
would be participating in Jana’s Sunday Stream of Consciousness (five minutes of writing, unedited, published wherever the heck you want). And this is
her optional prompt:

What
have you fallen out of the habit of doing (or not doing)?

This is an easy one. Unfortunately.

I have fallen off the “writing” wagon.

It happened somewhere around February, I think. I
have reasons. Several of them. Some will say one of them is lame. It probably
is and I’m sorry about that but I can’t help it. I’m lacking motivation, maybe
inspiration, possibly desire. Not sure yet.

I understand that writing takes practice and I’m
out of practice and each day this continues my desire wanes. Almost to the
point that I’m no longer caring.

Who am I kidding? Words have been elusive.

I am also trying to wean myself too. From the
computer. From a chair in a study that faces in the complete opposite direction
as a window with a lovely view.

I want the view!

I want to say “yes” every time someone I like asks
me to spend time with them. I want to pick up every time my cell phone rings
(okay, I will continue to screen my calls but I will be more available because
only friends have that number) and talk to the person on the other end that was
thinking of me enough to call. I want to call the person that I was just about
to text (I’ve actually been doing this much more in the last few months.)I
want to be present in moments without thinking first that those moments might
make great stories to write about the following day.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

With
her Cheshire cat smile already fixed and gray eyes sparkling in the way that always makes
it hard for me to say “no”, my girlfriend announced,

“Finding
a body for the semester final would sure score me some brownie points.”

Apparently,
it’s tough competition for a spot in the Ultrasound program at our community
college.

“Which
body parts?” I asked anticipating the worst.

“Just
your aorta, gallbladder and kidney.”

“That
doesn’t sound awful. What is the proper attire for being the "final"?”

“Something
comfortable. A shirt you can lift; pants you can roll down.”

I’m
not modest and can generally pull off the whole confidence thing with a “Oh I’m not
worried about it.” or “No problem, I’ll do it”. I never anticipated being as nervous as I
was. And driving to the final I thought, “Why didn't you call on that poster
at school all those years ago when the Art Department needed ‘models’?”

Arriving College of DuPage at 10:45 a.m., I was crabby (no coffee), hungry (never
helps) and required to pass an organ scan by the instructors. They gave me the low
down while applying cold goop to my midsection.

“Just
lie there. Do what they say; they should know what to do.”

Honestly,
I had butterflies but mine were no match for the apprehension with which these
students approached me.

“Hi,
my name is Autumn and I'll be your Ultrasound Tech today.”

Some
seemed terrified, others were visibly shaking and not one exuded confidence. Their nervousness was palpable.

“Scan
down the patient’s midsection transverse to the umbilicus and then to the
patient’s right side. Lock on the kidney.”

And
as one young man glided the probe down my middle, he headed to his right, not mine. I inconspicuously lifted my
left hip rolling slightly to my right and cleared my throat. He quickly changed
course. There was no way I was letting this poor, frightened boy fail if I had
a say.

Some
passed, others failed portions.

Some
found my gallbladder (which is just below your ribcage on the right) while
others locked on gas bubbles in my colon.

There
were ten students in all. I knew their fate the moment they left the classroom. After
cleaning off, I walked out into the hall and sensed true panic.

“We’ve
got to get a “B” to be accepted.”

"I don't think I passed."

“If
I don’t get into the program, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

I
guess I hadn’t realized the direness of some situations. That this might be the
end of the line; a true last chance before the reality of minimum wage set in. When a four-year college didn’t
work out as planned, a single parent needed more than what a technical or beauty school
education provided or two women (my age) needed careers later in life to support themselves.

These
were real concerns, life issues, not who’d seen my belly, the bruises on my ribs from applying too much pressure or what I’d eat for
lunch.

I
remember the days when finals were over. It meant summertime, being carefree
with “the world is my oyster” mentality.

This
wasn’t that.

And
I was extremely thankful I wasn’t in their shoes.

******************************It's been far too long since I've hung out with my pals over at Yeah Write. You know, that thing called life beckoned. Click on the badge below and check out the awesome friends I have over there. Been missin' you all!

Sunday, May 5, 2013

Wow!
It’s been a long time. My fingers haven’t typed at this keyboard, sitting in my
study, in weeks. I have no concrete reason or excuse except to admit I haven’t
“felt” like it.

But
it is Sunday and Sundays are my second favorite day of the week and in celebration
of this fact and to put something down on paper before I bask in the very first
day it has felt like Springtime in Chicago, Jana offered up a stream of
consciousness (five minutes to type then
immediately press “publish”) prompt of:

Dealing (with anything and
anybody)

Oh
BOY, has this changed over the years.

I
remember being a young, gainfully employed adult, then young mother, and trying
to control absolutely everything I came in contact with and I mean EVERYTHING.
I thought if I did, I could determine (okay, force) a suitable outcome, which
definitely translated into the one I
wanted. It worked about 50% of the time (most likely with the same probability as accompanied by my extraordinary measures). The interesting thing about this approach is that I
was almost always 100% stressed out. With worry. With pending
disappointment.With exhaustion.

A
quick decision maker by nature, and very impulsive, I make mistakes continually
throughout any given day. I am the first person to admit I’m incredibly and undeniably imperfect. I feel a certain amount weight lifted being able to acknowledge
this.

But
thinking about my approach to dealing this morning and being a gazillion years older than that
young, naïve mother, I realize that control is almost one of the very last
things I desire or need. In fact, I almost hate the feeling I get from forcing
something. And who wants something you have to "force" anyway (and there is a difference between making something happen by working for it and using force to produce it especially against another's will, in my opinion).

I find
much more peace from sleeping on things (decisions and issues!!!), reducing my
expectations of others AND going easier on myself. I am the only person I can control.
Maybe not my scattered thoughts so much but how I react or act on them.

I
can’t control, nor would I want to, anyone else. Because I never want to make
anyone do anything that they don’t want in their own heart.

Be
YOU! Let me be ME! If we like each other, YEA!!!

It
sounds so hands off but it makes it easier for me to
close my eyes at night (who am I kidding; I never sleep anyway).